The Nines (The Nines #1) Read online

  “Manipulate?” I place my hand on my chest and feign shock. “Me? Never.”

  He nods. “And you’re very good at it, by the way. You look so cute and innocent with those big, brown eyes of yours. But you’re a master manipulator.”

  “I didn’t mean to manipulate you, Hector. I just really wanted to know more about the masked man.”

  He points to one of the numerous planter boxes lining the front porch. “Well you learned he likes petunias.”

  When the front porch light snaps on Hector and I freeze.

  “He knows we’re here,” I whisper.

  “We need to go,” Hector whispers back.

  “Are you scared?” I tease. “Worried about him making a suit out of your skin?”

  Hector rolls his eyes at me. “That was Julio not me.”

  “That’s enough for tonight.” As I take one last look around I try to commit my surroundings to memory. I’ll definitely be back tomorrow when it’s daylight.

  “You’re already thinking about coming back, aren’t you?”

  “Thinking about it? No. Definitely not.”

  Hector narrows his gaze at me. “You’ve already decided?”

  I raise a hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise it will be daylight.”

  “Just be careful, okay?” He actually sounds concerned and I feel guilty.

  “So why are you so worried about my safety?”

  “Maybe because I want to take you out again.”

  “This isn’t a date,” I remind him.

  “On another non-date.”

  Hector looks at me expectantly, but I don’t reply. When he licks his bottom lip I think he might kiss me so I quickly turn away.

  “Are you ready to go back?” Hector asks. “I don’t want you to get too cold.”

  I nod. “Let’s go.”

  Once we arrive back at the front entrance to my dorm we both wait for a few moments, staring at each other. The awkward silence between us is a bit unnerving.

  “I really want to see you again,” he says finally.

  “Sure.” I know my response sounds half-hearted, but all I can think about is getting up to my room and seeing if any of my pals in the psychology student cyber café know anything about the masked man.

  Hector is now grinning from ear to ear. “Can I get your number?”

  “I don’t use my cell very much,” I admit. What I don’t want to admit is that it’s because I don’t have any friends to actually text or call. My parents share one disposable cell phone that they have just for emergencies. A smart phone isn’t even in their realm of possibility.

  And my brother isn’t going to call me from his jail cell. Truth be told I haven’t even seen him in person since he was arrested.

  I’m truly the personification of the word loner.

  “Can I see your phone?” Hector looks at me expectantly.

  I frown. “Okay…”

  As I remove the phone from my purse he says, “I’m just going to program my number into your phone. That way I’m sure you’ll have it. And I’ll program your number into mine.”

  I hand my phone to him and wait for him to do whatever it is he wants to do with it.

  When he hands the phone back to me I give him a polite smile. “Thanks.”

  “Maybe we can go to dinner next weekend. Someplace nice. We can get steaks or something.”

  I nod.

  “Great. I’ll text you.” Hector gives me a quick wave before he heads back toward his dorm. I notice that he takes another quick peek back at me before he heads off into the night.

  I practically run up the stairs and into my room. When I start my laptop I wait anxiously for it to power on so I can log into the psychology student cyber café.

  Two students are in the midst of a hot discussion about behaviorist B. F. Skinner’s utopian novel Walden Two when I arrive.

  Okay, maybe B.F. Skinner isn’t that hot, but the discussion seems to be entertaining the pair. It takes them a few seconds to acknowledge that I’ve joined the discussion.

  ALXTHEGR8T: AMERICNWOMN. I was wondering if you were going to join the discussion.

  Most of the students in the cyber café use nicknames or handles when they’re online. I use AMERICNWOMN. I’ve always liked the song. And it’s my little way of saying screw you to every person in the small town where I grew up who made me feel like a foreigner, even though I was born in the good ole US of A. My parents did everything in their power to make me and my brother feel like we were real Americans, but we were still treated like foreigners in our town. We looked just a little different. Even though we’re white, we weren’t quite white enough. My parents spoke English with thick accents. As hard as they tried to fit in and be American, they could never quite cut it. They were like the nerds in high school who tried everything they could to be accepted by the cool kids, but were still ridiculed no matter how hard they tried. As hard as my parents tried to fit in no one ever considered them real Americans. My brother and I spent our lives straddling the fence between being one of us and one of them.

  Becoming Roxie Bailey has only managed to make it easier for me to hide in plain sight and veil my true identity. It hasn’t made me feel any more like someone who actually belongs in my own country.

  I spend a lot of time in the psychology student cyber café and I’ve gotten to know the regulars very well. If I had to guess I’d say they spend most of their free time in the virtual socialsphere because they don’t have any kind of a social life in the real world.

  That’s why I spend most of my free time in the online forum.

  ALXTHEGR8T: Have you read Walden Two yet?

  ME: No. Not yet. What class is it required for?

  FANGURL: Theories of Personality Two.

  ME: I haven’t even taken Theories of Personality One yet.

  FANGURL: Just make sure you don’t take Dr. Heston. Snoozeville.

  ME: Thanks for the heads up.

  ALXTHEGR8T: I was wondering if you were going to be here tonight.

  ME: Not a lot to do on a Friday night.

  ALXTHEGR8T: No hot dates for AMERICNWOMN?

  I don’t want to lie, but I don’t really want to tell him about my date either. Maybe it’s because I’ve developed a bit of a crush on him. It’s strange to connect with someone so deeply who you’ve never seen in real life. But I wouldn’t exactly call going out with Hector a hot date either. Lukewarm at best.

  ME: No hot dates.

  ALXTHEGR8T: Good. I still have you all to myself.

  FANGURL: Hey, don’t forget about me. I haven’t had a hot date in years. Or any date for that matter.

  ME:

  ALXTHEGR8T: Well, Ladies. What would you like to discuss tonight? A little Sigmund Freud? Or Alfred Alder perhaps? Anyone interested in Birth Order Theory?

  ME: I have something that’s kind of related to psychology…

  ALXTHEGR8T: Do tell???

  ME: I heard a weird story. Just wanted to know if it was true.

  ALXTHEGR8T: About what?

  ME: I heard there’s a guy who lives near campus and he always wears a mask. Kind of like Phantom of the Opera.

  FANGURL: Freaky. I haven’t heard anything like that. Sounds intriguing though.

  ME: I think so too.

  I wait but I don’t hear anything more from ALXTHEGR8T. Then I notice that he’s logged out of the cyber café.

  ME: What happened to ALXTHEGR8T?

  FANGURL: He’s like that. He comes and goes fast. Sometimes in the middle of a conversation he’ll just disappear.

  She’s right. Even though I’ve only been chatting with ALXTHEGR8T and FANGURL for a few months, I feel like I’m getting to know them pretty well. At least what they’re willing to share about themselves in the online forum. ALXTHEGR8T does have a bit of a post-and-run habit.

  FANGRL: Sorry, but I’ve got to go too. I’ve got to swap out my whites and darks and put some stuff in the dryer. Catch you later.

  ME: Later.<
br />
  Then I hear a ting and notice that I’ve gotten private message. When I click on it I see it’s from ALXTHEGR8T.

  Don’t ask so many questions. You may not like the answers you receive.

  I send back my reply: Do you know something about the man in the mask?

  That’s it. I don’t get any more messages. It’s almost like ALXTHEGR8T is trying to warn me against trying to find out more about the masked man. What he doesn’t realize is that it’s had the opposite effect. I’m even more intrigued.

  There’s no way for me to find out who ALXTHEGR8T is. I wonder if there are any guys in my psychology classes who go by Alexander or Alex. Or even any girls named Alexandria. I don’t know everyone by name yet, but I don’t recall anyone with any derivation of the name.

  Of course it’s possible that the ALXTHEGR8T is just a handle and has no relationship to the person’s real name. It’s not like anyone could figure out who I am just from AMERICNWOMN.

  I try to put it out of my head and get some sleep.

  Not that I’ve gotten very much sleep in the last two years. I usually just have nightmares.

  Bombs detonating when I arrive at school. The chaos immediately following the explosions. Raging fires and the ear-piercing screams as my classmates are burned alive. And the putrid smell of burning human flesh. Those sights, sounds and smells are forever etched in my memory. Things I will never be able to forget.

  Just as I’m about ready to fall into an exhausted coma after my usual nightly routine of tossing, turning and nonstop rumination, my roommate tries to sneak into our room. I certainly appreciate her attempts not to wake me, but considering that I could win awards for being the lightest sleeper on the planet, she never fails to wake me with even her slightest movement.

  “Sorry,” she whispers when I flip over to face her.

  “I was having trouble sleeping,” I admit.

  “Thinking about Hector?” she asks hopefully. “He really likes you.”

  Hector hasn’t been on my mind at all and I have to admit that I haven’t thought about him once since our non-date ended. But for some reason I say, “I like him too.”

  It’s not a lie exactly. I like him as a friend. I’m just not attracted to him in the way I’m pretty sure he’s attracted to me.

  “You don’t sound quite as enthusiastic as he does.” Claire flops down on her bed.

  I heave a sigh. “I’m not really into the whole dating thing.”

  “Not really into dating or not really into dating Hector. There’s a big difference.”

  “Maybe both.”

  Claire heaves an exasperated sigh. “You can’t just study all the time. You’re a freshman in college. You’re supposed to be having fun.”

  “I have fun,” I counter, but I don’t even sound convincing to myself.

  “Tell me exactly what you do for fun.”

  “I hang out in the psychology student online forum a lot.”

  She’s staring at me, obviously waiting for me to come up with something a little bit more exciting than that. Unfortunately I’ve got nothing. That’s pretty much the extent of my social life at the university.

  “I have no idea what’s fun about hanging out in an online forum,” Claire complains. “And I don’t think I want to know. We need to get you out into the real world a little more. Hector is Julio’s best friend and roommate and he really likes you. Give it some thought, okay?”

  I’m beginning to think that my going out with Hector has more to do with making Julio happy by making his roommate happy than it does with Claire really wanting me to have a social life. But I promise her I’ll think about it anyway.

  Two

  Alexander

  Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s. It’s what I breathe for. It’s what I’m still living for. I live for the moment when I will literally have his eye for mine. It’s been two years. Two long and difficult years, but my plan is nearly complete. When I’m not in a hospital having doctors try to repair my ravaged body I spend my time on the computer, doing hacking jobs for large corporations and governments who don’t want to get their hands dirty, or be associated with a job if things go sideways. But they don’t have any reason to worry. I’m meticulous, so I’ll never get caught.

  I have the one thing that most people don’t.

  Time.

  After I was burned it was difficult for people to look at me and when they did, it was with pity or disgust, often both.

  Even my own mother.

  I don’t want anyone’s pity. And I have enough disgust towards myself to last five lifetimes.

  So I left everything I’ve ever known and started over on my own.

  Now I spend my days and nights in the small home I inherited from my aunt when she died. I would never have chosen to live next door to a large state university. It’s often loud and there are young people everywhere. It’s a constant reminder of everything I lost. I don’t feel young anymore. I feel like an old man trapped in a twenty-year-old body. If wisdom is the gift of tragedy I’d rather be ignorant.

  I rarely leave home. It’s amazing what you can have delivered to your door these days. When I do need to go outside, it’s always at night and I always wear a mask. Not like the ones kids wear on Halloween. It’s more like the one that the Phantom of the Opera wore, but my mask is black and was specially designed to cover the burn scars on the left side of my face.

  My latest job is for an Eastern European mob family. Modern day computer espionage has given a whole new meaning to the term “mob hit.” There’s no blood, no violence, just five million dollars vanished from several off-shore accounts in the blink of an eye. And I get fifteen percent. Not bad for a few weeks’ work.

  Is it wrong to steal from criminals? I call it karmic justice. I don’t take jobs that could hurt innocent people. I only wrong people who have wronged others.

  I have the luxury of a hefty bank account and very few needs. I don’t need to work another day my entire life and I wouldn’t want for a thing. But I need to keep my mind occupied. So I take hacking jobs that interest me and I take university classes online.

  Having online discussions with my virtual classmates gives me the illusion of having friends and a social life. I realize it’s a poor substitute, but it’s the best I can do given my situation.

  I try not to dwell on the past. The person I was, Mr. Popularity, the Class President, the Homecoming King, died the day my body burned like a barbeque on the Fourth of July.

  My life now is in the shadows. Living with the fringe dwellers on the edge of humanity. I often feel like a man whose body has died, but his mind hasn’t caught up to that fact yet.

  When my computer roars I know I have an incoming message. It’s from one of my contacts in China. I get a lot of work from the Chinese. I don’t speak Chinese and don’t have the patience to learn, so I use an intermediary to broker the deals. He gets fifteen percent of every deal he mediates.

  I hear the familiar buzz of SKYPE and when I click on the icon Xiang Yuan appears on the screen. He’s young, probably just a few years older than me, but much better dressed. He always wears five hundred dollar suits and I’ve never seen him wear the same one twice.

  “I can get you eight hundred thousand,” he says.

  I don’t reply right away. I like to play things cool.

  He continues. “With your skills this job won’t take more than one week. Who else will pay close to a million for one week’s work?”

  “The Russians immediately come to mind,” I reply.

  “And they’ll slit your throat if you don’t deliver on time. We have much more patience than that.”

  I give a hearty laugh. “You guys are saints. You’d never slit a hacker’s throat. Maybe I should tell that to Jenks. Oh, wait. I can’t. You killed him.”

  “Jenks got sloppy. That’s one concern I never have with you. You’re too meticulous.”

  I shake my head. “You’re just saying that because you need me to take the job.
”

  “You’re the best person for the job,” he corrects.

  “I’m the only guy you’ve got left.”

  “Nine hundred thousand. But that is the final offer. Do we have a deal?”

  I nod. “We have a deal.”

  “Good. Let me know when the job is completed.”

  “Don’t I always?”

  Xiang Yuan doesn’t bother with a reply. He simply disappears from the screen.

  I don’t need the money, but it’s an easy job that will probably only take a few days’ work. They’re offering close to a million for it. It’s not something I can refuse.

  I rise and take a stretch away from my laptop. Sometimes it starts to feel like an appendage and that’s when I know I need a little time away from it. I step into the kitchen and make a fresh pot of coffee. While it’s brewing I glance out my kitchen window. My aunt liked to garden and the backyard is like a small sanctuary. I like to look at the plants and flowers, but I can’t be bothered with the maintenance. I have a gardener who comes by once a week to trim and weed and do whatever else needs to be done to keep it looking nice. I’ve never actually met the man, but I leave a check in an envelope for him under a mat on the back porch.

  From my kitchen window I also have a slightly obstructed view of the small street I live on. The fact that it’s Macedonia Boulevard and my name is Alexander is a coincidence that is not lost on me.

  The house is one block removed from one of the major thoroughfares the students frequent, so it’s not as noisy as it could be for being so close to campus. I’m still just a few blocks away from some of the dorms and much of the off-campus housing.

  I’m surprised to see a beautiful girl, carrying a backpack, stop right next to my house. I have no idea who she is, or why she’s stopped there, but she looks lost.

  Her long, dark hair moves slightly in the breeze and when it finally blows away from her face I can see her magnificent brown eyes and perfect pink lips. If my wishes came true and I was finally dead I know I’d be looking at the face of an angel.

  I shouldn’t be standing in front of my window in the daylight staring at her. If she turned at just the right angle she could see me, and that wouldn’t be pretty. It would probably traumatize her. I need to move away from the window, but I can’t. I’m completely mesmerized by her.